


these violent delights have violent ends

by orphan_account



Category: John Wick (Movies), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 17:03:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11467866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: no one should be that comfortable with a knife in their hand





	these violent delights have violent ends

**Author's Note:**

> unrelated to the previous work: everything in-between

Molly stretched her arms high, white sleeves sliding down to reveal freckled and scarred skin. The fluorescent lighting gave her face unpleasant shadows but the dead certainly didn't mind, they got her most unflattering angle when she looked down at them.

Cutting into the flesh of a corpse never bothered Molly, not even when she was in school. It took other students a few tries to begin, human flesh different than the animals they had practiced on, but for Molly she just went up to the body and cut cleanly through the chest.

Not even a flinch.

It ran in the family, seeing the insides of the human body never bothered the Moriarty's, known for being the most ruthless of the families at the High Table. Her cousin currently held their seat, as she had no interest in it despite Gianna's prodding. Gianna was concerned for her and for her cousin, who everyone knew was unstable.

Unsuitable to sit at the High Table.

Molly couldn't care less however, her preference for lending help to the London branch of Cleaners was her excuse for not taking his seat. She occasionally stitched up members of her Family. Those who were hurt for doing her brother's dirty work.

Looking down at Mr. Aurilious, Molly wrote down notes on his heart attack, deliberately leaving out the cause of the heart attack which was a poison specially made for one particular assassin.

Irene Adler was close to Molly, they had had a brief affair before cutting it off, preferring not to mix their business with pleasure. Both were smart women and continued to stay in each other's company, finding similar minds hard to locate. 

She was well-versed in Irene's method of assassination, poison was a particular favorite for them both. Molly pulled her cell out to text Irene that her contract was clean and she could go collect. She slid her phone in her pocket and began to stitch up Mr. Aurilious when the doors banged open, signaling the return of her favorite pest.

Sherlock Holmes was certainly a brilliant man, he had even made trouble for her on more than a few contracts she was making sure went unnoticed. It didn't lessen her attraction to him.

And oh, how Jim would be _livid_ if he knew how much she actually liked him.

Molly was, after all, supposed to be his. No matter how close their family ties were, marriages stayed with the Families or made an alliance with another Family at the High Table. Jim, however, held a particular disdain for the other Families, turning down the offer of Gianna viciously to her father.

It had taken quite a while to soothe the ruffled feathers and guns of the Italian family.

Sherlock breezed past her and the corpse to open a drawer with a different dead body. He slid them out and unzipped their body bag, Molly sighed as she approached him, "This better not be for your experiments Sherlock. I have plans."

"No you don't." He said without looking at her.

She in fact had plans with Irene at the Continental, plans to drink wine and arrangements for their next trip to Italy to see Gianna. Irene had been out of the country for a while and she was not letting Sherlock stop her.

"Yes I do. Ethan will be in at half-past, try not to leave too big a mess for him."

He would.

* * *

Molly put away her coat and pulled on her grey cardigan, the chill wasn't enough to warrant a real coat. She checked her phone to see Irene's message, she was already at the Continental with two bottles opened.

She tossed her phone in her bag, making sure her gun was holstered correctly within reach inside it. Her knife up her sleeve was handy but the gun was quicker. Leaving the locker rooms quickly she dashed past the morgue quietly, making sure Sherlock didn't try to catch her and stop her from leaving.

The cab she grabbed was silent and she preferred that sort of driver. Chit chat was not one of her strong suits, Jim always told her so.

He had not contacted her for a while and it made her uneasy, long periods without even a rambling text from him made her wonder what he was doing, how he might be destroying their Family.

At the Continental she was greeted by Edmund, the ever-polite concierge. He gave her a key to her usual room and she glided past other members of the hotel, no one giving her plain attire a second glance amongst the suits and pristine dresses.

The gold and marble elevator was swift and soon she was opening the door to the suite she and Irene shared, Irene came out from the bedroom in a robe, red-tipped nails holding a similar shade of wine. She held it out to Molly who sipped it before taking a big gulp,

"Molly, you smell like death, go bathe."

"That's awfully rude for someone who hasn't seen their friend in a while."

"Well I wasn't expecting you to smell like the corpses you cut open. Go on then, I'll order some food. What do you want?"

"Thai."

Irene rolled her eyes, "Yes it pairs so well with the wine and will add that extra scent to the room it was lacking. We're having fish, I haven't had any decent ones since France."

It was easy to slide off the personality she wore all day, to let some of her coldness rise to the surface and Irene never minded. She would be unsettled if she was mousy Molly whenever they met. 

Molly went into the large marble bathroom, white and gold gleaming as she turned the lights on. She kicked Irene's clothes under the large vanity and undid her ponytail before shedding her own clothes. She ignored the white bath for the glass shower, turning the heated water on high and stepping into the steaming flow.

She scrubbed her hair with the rose shampoo Irene loved and scrubbed her body with the lavender soap they both swore by. While shaving her armpits she could hear Irene greeting a busboy who had their food, she stepped out and dried her hair before pulling on her purple robe and exiting the warm room.

The food was set on a table in front of the large plush couch, Irene sat cross-legged with the television searching through movies.

"Do you want to watch anything in particular?"

"Something American."

They selected a show and ate the fish quickly, the two bottles of wine disappearing quickly. They both were soon laughing at the ridiculous sitcom and Irene leaned back while threading her fingers through Molly's hair.

"Tell me, have you managed to find anyone yet?"

"There is this prat I don't mind. He's smart but he's rude."

Irene said, "Certainly reminds me of someone."

"He and Jim would either be best friends or bitter enemies I'm sure. Have you heard from Jim recently?"

"I have."

"And?"

Irene was silent for a moment, "He wants me to keep an eye on you and report back to him."

Molly raised an eyebrow, "And are you?"

"Of course not. I feed him bits and pieces to keep him satiated, but I'm sure it won't be enough after a while. He has been...obsessing over you for a while."

"Tell me something new."

"It's gotten worse Molly. Sebastian tells me that while he's become more unstable, his networks have become stronger, but not without a lot of risk."

"How so?"

"It's different from the Family. It's bringing in people who have no business within our world, even people who have been cast out. He's planning something, but no one can tell what."

Molly leaned back into the couch, "Perhaps it's time for a family reunion."

* * *

In her tiny flat Toby greeted her at the door. The relaxing night with Irene had made her tense, she wanted to avoid Jim as much as she could but she couldn't let her Families legacy fall apart.

At the bottom of her closet she pulled out a rotary phone and plugged it in before dialing the operator, her face blank. 

"Operator how may I direct your call?"

"Moriarty Financing please."

"One moment ma'am."

The phone rang twice before a smooth voice answered, "Bonjour."

"Hello Jim."

"Molly! I wondered when I might hear from you, it's been far too long my love. Tell me, how are you?"

"Peachy Jim. Are you in the country?"

"Not at the moment, but for you I can be."

Her fingers gripped the phone as she said, "I'd love to catch up, perhaps at the Continental, in our Family rooms?"

His voice went high, "That sounds _delightful_ Molly, I'll be in this weekend. Perhaps we'll do more than catch up?"

"Perhaps."

She hung up the phone.

* * *

In the years she had known Sherlock she had never seen him so tense. John's arrival into his life had made him more bearable but now, with bombs going off inside his own home, he was worse.

And if she ran off now he would snap and make her stay, but she had to go to Jim. He was waiting for her, and he _hated_ waiting, just like her. 

The door to the lab snapped open and she turned to see Jim himself standing there, wearing a particular outfit, not his normal suit and tie. He also had a goofy look on his face, not one she had ever noticed before except when he was acting.

And he always expected her to play along.

"Molly! I thought we were meeting up for lunch?"

"Jim! Yes, sorry, I was finishing some work here if you're ready to go."

He sidled up next to her and said, "Won't you introduce me to your friends?"

That was the last thing she wanted, Sherlock was a prat but he fascinated her and John was always kind. Neither deserved whatever her cousin had dreamt up, "Sherlock, John, this is my boyfriend, Jim."

John greeted Jim but Sherlock glanced at him once before muttering, "Gay."

Molly stared at him a moment before deciding to use it to her advantage. Sherlock knew a statement like that would upset her, so she went for it.

"No he's not."

"Well his underwear says otherwise."

She gave him a withering look before storming out, Jim on her heels.

"They were fun! Sherlock certainly didn't seem so smart did he? Thinking I'm gay? I'm obviously bisexual which you're well aware of-"

Molly slammed him into a small office, knife pressed against his throat.

"How dare you come here."

He just smiled at her, their eyes level with each other. His cold and hers hard.

"Well you left me _waiting_ Molly. You know how I hate that."

"And we agreed you would let me keep this small life, this one thing that is untouched by our Family. I worked too hard for this to be ruined by you."

Her knife fell from his throat and he kept his small smile while grabbing her hands.

"I missed you Molls, I couldn't _bear_ to be to close and not able to smell you."

He leaned forward and grabbed her hair, lifting it his nose to sniff deeply.

"How I've _missed_ you."

* * *

The meeting with Jim had been mildly...pleasant. He had been courteous at the restaurant in the Continental, had asked her all the right questions any normal person would, and had escorted her to their rooms without incident. Sebastian was their one bodyguard and she greeted her old friend, his dark skin contrasting with her Irish skin.

"It's been too long Sebastian."

"It truly has Miss Moriarty."

"Please Sebastian, you know it's Molly."

He smiled at her and held her chair out for her, stood behind her instead of Jim. Jim didn't particularly care, Sebastian was his caretaker in more ways than one. In their rooms Sebastian stayed in the foyer while the cousins sat in the living room, music playing softly on the speakers.

"So Molls. Anything particular you wanted to talk about?"

"Can't I just want to see you?"

Jim said nothing, leaning his cheek into his hand and staring at her with brown eyes so similar to her own. Some had sworn they were twins when they were younger. His other hand went to her hair and fingered the ends of it before trailing to her neck.

His touch on her neck was familiar and warm, he knew touching her neck aroused her, he had done it plenty of times before. She would fall into bed with him time and time again, his fingers familiar with the curves of her body. His hand went behind her neck and brought her closer to him and their lips met, soft at first then harsh and unforgiving.

Their love was always unforgiving.

She wished she felt nothing for him, but that would be a lie.

They were in the bedroom quickly, the door snapped tight behind them. Jim pushed her shirt over her head, her blue bra the brightest thing in the dark bedroom. His lips latched on to her neck, drawing a gasp from her. Molly's skin tingled as she undid the buttons on his shirt, pushing it off his arms. Her fingers found his zipper without looking, his trousers shucked off quickly.

Jim's erection was growing in his pants, her trousers were shimmied off to reveal her matching blue knickers. His hand went behind her head while the other went to her cunt, he ran his fingers over the cotton, rubbing until they began to get damp. Jim slid his hand up to her naval and went under her panties, caressing the curls there before finding her wet cunt.

He knew her well, stroking a particular part of her labia that made her knees wobble slightly. He pushed her onto the bed and they scrambled towards the pillows. Yanking her panties down her legs, he ripped them in his desperation to get them _off_. She didn't whimper any protest, plenty of knickers had been ruined by both of them over the years.

Climbing up her body he pressed against her, their bodies crushed together. His arms caged her in while hers snaked around his body to press him closer, the cloth of her bra rubbing tight between them. His pants still kept his erection from her skin and he ground against her, her legs opening so he had access. His pants became damp from where his covered cock touched her.

Molly pushed him up and he raised himself on his arms. She undid her bra and flung it away, her breasts became crushed against his bare skin as he came back down, his lips biting her neck.

The bruises he left were familiar ones, ones she had hidden her entire life, not that there was any point to. It was an open secret the Moriarty cousins would wed someday, there was no point in them _saving_ themselves.

Friction between the two of them was high, between their grinding hips and his lips tight on her, the gasps smothered by the music still pumping from the next room.

Jim let go of her neck and pulled himself away from her, she moaned at the lack of contact and he knelt between her spread legs. Her wet cunt was no stranger to him, his tongue had figured her out years ago. His tongue went to her clit while his arms clamped on her legs, pinning her to the bed.

Her moans were loud as the obscene noises he made between her legs filled the room. Her hands went to her breasts and she kneaded them before letting her right go down to Jim's head. He watched her as she moved her hips, trying to gain more feeling from him. Their eyes latched onto each other as she sat up against the pillows so she could look down on him as his tongue lapped at her. His hips were slowly humping against the duvet, leaving a wet spot.

Neither would ever look away.

Their sins were always bared to the other, this sin was nothing as he sucked particularly hard on her and her stomach constricted. She pushed herself against his tongue as her orgasm rode out, he continued to suck and lap at her as her legs relaxed. Her head fell back against the pillows and he pulled away, he rose up on his knees and pushed his pants down, his pink erection springing free.

Pre-cum had left a damp spot on his pants and the bedcovers, his hand spread it over his cock, his other hand went between her legs and got slick from her own wetness, using it to pump himself.

They had masturbated many times in front of each other, but they preferred to participate. Molly touched her went cunt, making her fingers wet before joining his hands on his cock, his dropped his fingers from it and let her slide up and down him. Her other hand went to his balls and massaged them, drawing a deep groan from him.

Molly licked at his chest before nibbling on his clavicle, his head bowed towards her, similar brown eyes once again meeting. She continued to touch him and his hips moved to meet her fingers before she let go of him. She laid back and spread her legs again.

He needed no other invitation.

Soon he filled her again, the intimate feeling something they had only shared with each other, only taking same-sex partners other than each other.

For the love they shared, she had never been able to be with another man, no matter how much she wanted to. Sherlock she did want, but she chose him because subconsciously she knew she wouldn't have him.

He was untouchable.

They moved together, a rhythm coming easy to them. It wasn't long before his thrusts were hard and nearly painful as they snapped together. She never minded the bruises he left, he always managed to reach that sweet spot inside her. Their groans were harsh together, nearly violent as they moved brutally together.

What were they, besides brutal to one another?

Jim had threatened to kill Irene before, and she had his throat in her hands before he was finished speaking. She had lightly mentioned the constantly changing bodyguards he had as more than that and wondered if they might need to invest in some straight ones and he had thrown her into the wall, her head banging hard against the plaster.

The two of them were uncontrollable, maybe it was what made them such a perfect match, maybe it was what drove them to despise each other, to love each other.

His hips strained against hers and she felt him coming inside her, Molly slipped a hand between them and rubbed her clit, clamping her legs tight around him and she began to cum.

They relaxed breathless against one another, bruises already blossoming on their skin. Jim pulled out of her and flopped on his back, one arm snaking underneath her back to yank her against him. Her sore legs brushed against his and he bit her lip, dragging his fingers down her side.

"You're mine."

She turned her head to look at him, still breathless, "You're **mine**."

* * *

Molly had left quickly, her cardigan drawn tight around her neck as she entered the elevator to reach Irene's floor. The door opened quietly and Irene turned in her sleepwear to see her ruffled friend.

"So you met up with Jim?"

Molly gave her a wry look before discarding all her clothes and entering the bathroom. She turned the bathwater on and slipped in with a groan as it began to fill. Irene followed and sat on the edge of the marble tub, looking down at the marks.

"You're both savages, you know that?"

"What else would we be."

* * *

As it turned out, Molly was not the only reason Jim had come back. The bastard hadn't told her he was playing a game with Sherlock Holmes. If she had known she would have been forceful and enraged during their encounter.

Instead she had to find out when Sherlock and John came to her, telling her that her boyfriend Jim had blown up people.

The faintness wasn't because of her disbelief, but her rage. He wasn't supposed to be killing innocent people, none of them had any contracts or contacts near their world.

As soon as the two had left Molly had stormed out of the lab, reaching the Continental quickly. Her path to Jim's room was uninhibited and she slammed the door open to see Sebastian leaving the bedroom in only his pants. She ignored him to push past and find Jim, who lounged naked in bed.

"Molly. I wasn't expecting you so soon."

She leapt on the bed and her fingers were around his throat, the other pressing her gun against his brain.

"Tell me why I shouldn't spill your brains right here."

He laughed, "Poetic isn't it, threatening to kill me where we fucked."

"Right now you've broken the rules Jim. Punishable by death, even Sebastian knows and he won't interfere should I decide you're guilty."

He shrugged, "And you'll what? Take my seat? We both know you don't want that."

Jim was right, she wanted no part of it, but it needed to be filled and they both know she would never let someone outside of their family take it. Her fingers left his neck and she got off the bed. He stayed with his arms flung wide.

"Do you want to join me Molly? Sebastian needed a break."

Her knife was in her hand and in his leg quickly. He let out a yelp as she yanked the blade out and flew from the room. Blood dripped from it as she left so she wiped it on her trousers. Sebastian watched her leave, standing with his hands behind his back. She stared at him with hard eyes, uncaring of his near-nakedness.

"The next time he decides to go after an innocent, do let me know. It's more trouble than it's worth."

* * *

Molly was vicious in her needle stabs, not that her patient minded. Old Ellen had fallen down the stairs and her bruises would hide any stray marks, Ellen wouldn't have minded either considering the number of needle-marks in her arm.

The doors behind her opened quietly and she turned to see John, without Sherlock. She plastered a small smile on her face, "John! How are you?"

"I'm getting on well, Molly. You?"

"Ah well Ellen and I have been having a pleasant evening."

He cracked a strained smile for her, she was well aware how morbid her joke was. It kept most people at a pleasant distance. "What can I do for you John?"

"I just...I needed a break. Sherlock and I have..."

The bombings then.

"This is about the bombs?"

"Yeah."

"Has there been another one?"

John nodded.

Jim was going to have his throat slit.

"I'm sorry, did you need anything?"

"Just...just some quiet."

"Okay."

She went back to her work and John sat at a lab table where some of Sherlock's experiments had been growing. His hands fluttered over the instruments until Molly said, "You can work with them John. I don't mind."

He began working with the dishes while she finished sewing Ellen up. Once done she peeled her gloves off to find her phone and text Sebastian.

_Tell me where it is._

_Piccadilly Circus._

She cursed under her breath, of course he would put them where she couldn't get to it without a lot of attention. More than likely with a sniper involved, one who wouldn't know who she was.

Sherlock though, he had solved Carl Powers' murder. He might see through whatever game Jim had cooked up now.

* * *

And he did.

But he didn't save Connie Prince. All those people dead.

Her rage saw her destroying her kitchen table with a knife, imagining Jim's face painted on the wood.

That's when she gave a contract to the Golem.

* * *

Jim had to admit he hadn't seen Molly calling the Golem. Or adding the fake Vermeer to his little game with Sherlock.

It added a certain amount of fun though.

Some unpredictability.

* * *

Missile plans were new, she had to give Jim that. Irene had declined to interfere in any way, having had enough moments with Jim over the years. But it was Molly begging, actually _begging_ , that had her agreeing to work with him and to call him at her signal.

Of course it was at the pool, _the_ pool, where Carl died. Jim showed from an early age his penchant for death and destruction, with Molly cleaning up his messes. Carl was a learning curve, one both had taken to heart. Why Jim chose such a personal place for this game he was playing, Molly wasn't entirely sure.

And she hated being uncertain, no matter the situation.

Jim with his annoying way of saying 'Hi' made her skin crawl, and when he was called a 'consulting criminal' she had to bite her tongue. To hold in a laugh or a choke, she wasn't sure.

If anyone was a consulting criminal, they really should be asking both Jim and Molly. Being able to commit the crime wasn't the bulk of a problem, but rather the clean up.

When she saw John wearing the vest, she knew it was over for Jim. She couldn't allow such a slight to go unpunished.

And punishment there would be.

"That's what people **do**."

It certainly was what Jim would be doing. She hadn't decided if she truly would kill him yet.

"I will burn the **heart** out of you."

Funny, considering she wasn't sure Sherlock had a heart.

There was a moment where Jim left and she considered lightening his sentence, but then Jim of course.

"Sorry boys, I'm _so_ changeable!"

Molly wasn't though. Once she decided, there was nothing left to alter.

She lost her breath though, when Sherlock pointed the gun at the bombs.

* * *

His stupid ringtone went off, the one that had annoyed her ever since he bought it, and she had never been so _glad_ to hear it.

Irene somehow always knew what Molly needed, calling Jim before even being signaled.

He stared at his phone before answering as if he didn't a bomb at his feet or a gun pointed at him. He looked annoyed, which was to be expected since Irene had never called him before.

"Hello?"

" _Hello, Jim ye_ s?"

"Yes of course it is what do you want?"

His mocking apology to Sherlock made a giggle leave her throat, and Sebastian looked from his rifle up to her before turning back. Gun pointed directly at Jim's neck.

" _I am a dear friend of your cousin's and she asked me to relay a message. You're done. She's taking your seat at the High Table._ "

The whole body turn of Jim wasn't surprising, his vicious change of mood was predicable to her.

" **SAY THAT AGAIN**."

Sherlock and John flinched, but Molly watched with her arms crossed.

"Say that again, and know that if you're lying to me I will find you and I will _skin_ you."

He was rather talented at that, she had to admit.

" _She will, however, give you **one** more chance to keep it. Walk away from the pool and the detective and the doctor._ "

"Well."

Irene didn't say anything else.

Molly waited as a thousand thoughts and scenarios ran through her dear cousin's mind. His face almost innocent as he was perhaps thinking of the different ways to just kill her.

The barely controlled rage on his face as he walked closer to the bomb made her wonder if he was hoping Sherlock would just blow him up anyway. It certainly would make her week go faster.

Jim's forehead furrowed as he looked towards the pair, "Sorry. Wrong day to die."

His voice was mellow again, which startled Sherlock and John. It made Molly's tense shoulders relax, as Jim spoke to Sherlock she no longer cared how they interacted, so long as she didn't have to interfere again.

Jim's phone was at his ear as he walked away from Sherlock, whose gun was still pointed at him, "If what you say is true, you've given me a new game to play. However if you're lying, I will turn you into shoes."

Irene responded, "So long as you promise to make them Louboutin red."

A snap of Jim's fingers made the snipers pull back, Sebastian stood and put his hands behind his back as he waited on Molly.

"Sebastian, would you kindly escort me to the hotel?"

"Of course, Miss Moriarty."

She supposed she would soon have to get used to being called that again. Miss Molly Hooper couldn't sit at the high table, Margaret Moriarty had to.

* * *

In the lobby Jim was sipping at a sex on the beach, a simple glass of gin sitting next to him. She grabbed it and gulped it down quickly, relishing the burn, feeling as though it was cleansing her throat for the words she was about to speak.

"Tell me, how is Miss Adler?"

"Working hard."

Molly sat down on the stool next to him and leaned back, her white coat creasing against the wood. Her outfit was pristine, the cotton cardigans gone and sensible shoes banished to the bottom of her armoire.

Irene had been more than generous with her closet.

"James, you must understand I cannot allow your little games to continue."

He dramatically rolled his eyes and gestured for the bartender in his sing-song voice, "Oh bartender! I do believe I'm going to need to be absolutely _pissed_ to continue this conversation."

She waited for him to finish before speaking, "I gave you fair warning and no one will question me when I simply take your seat."

Turning his entire seat like a child he looked at her, "Oh please Molly. We've discussed this before, you didn't _want_ the seat."

"It's no longer a matter of _wanting_ James. It's a matter of making sure you don't bring down our Family single-handedly."

He laughed in a high pitch, "Oh please Molly. If anyone is going to _out_ us, it would be you. You can't stand that I always drag you back in, you would do anything to stay out. And I mean **anything**."

The hard look in his eyes meant he was talking about one specific night. One she would rather not discuss in public, or ever.

"Besides, you had just as much fun playing with Sherlock. You've spent so much time around him and he still doesn't know who you really are. I wonder, is it that you play your role so beautifully or is he simply too blind?"

Molly didn't bother to respond, instead pulling her sunglasses out of her pocket and putting them on.

"Good-bye Jim."

She hopped off the stool and walked away quickly, her mary jane shoes making no noise.

Jim simply giggled as Molly left the room.

* * *

He simply dropped off the map. Sebastian too.

Her nails dug into her skin, blood dripped from her fingertips. 

* * *

The holidays grew close and she made her plans to leave Molly Hooper's life behind. Christmas came and with it an awful party. Certainly the least bloody she had ever been to.

And still Sherlock was fucking blind.

She had to admit a large part of her was satisfied when he looked down at Irene's corpse double. Nearly identical to Irene save for a freckle behind her knees, and when Mycroft lingered after Sherlock left she raised soft eyes towards him.

"Is...is there something else Mr. Holmes?"

Molly let some vulnerability slip into her voice, after all she was supposed to be endlessly in love with Sherlock, but there was a glint in Mycroft's eyes, "You're very good at what you do Miss Hooper."

"Thank you."

He lingered for another moment, something unspoken in his face and Molly knew he knew exactly what she was, who she was.

It didn't bother her one bit.

* * *

James finally resurfaced in the most dramatic of fashions with a crown on his head. Molly herself never enjoyed a spotlight like James did, the _publicity_.

She carefully followed his trial and had every article saved, three televisions on different channels, and James never spoke a word. An interesting tactic as he loved the sound of his own voice. When he was acquitted Molly wasn't surprised, each and every member of the jury was threatened. A tactic she had expected.

It didn't escape her notice that several assassins were placed around Baker Street, some were even known personally to her. The one assigned to Mrs. Hudson spoke with her and she threatened him, "Should anything happen to Mrs. Hudson I will have you stripped and _skinned_."

And Moriarty's always kept their threats.

The pieces of James' game fell into place and the grand picture began to show itself. He meant to use her in this so-called game with Sherlock, certain she would fall into her cover to keep herself hidden.

He hadn't quite estimated how much she had prepared to be in the spotlight after standing backstage.

* * *

Sherlock went to her, the one who counted, and she wondered if she really did. James had essentially pushed him into her quiet path and Sherlock had fallen at her feet, begging.

She might have enjoyed it once.

Instead she helped him prepare for what he thought would be his final round. She wouldn't let James and Sherlock have this round, not when she stood poised to take down all they held dear.

* * *

In the stairwell to Bart's roof Molly listened to James' phone ringing 'Staying Alive', she muttered into her microphone, "I will never listen to that song again for as long as I live."

Irene's voice crackled in her ear, "Such a tacky song. And he thinks he's going to make a point of it."

"All he's ever done is stay alive, just like the rest of us."

The two men on the roof had their little dance, their little chess game of the minds. Molly spoke again, "I wonder how women in the past did it."

"Did what?"

"Listen to imbeciles, to men drone on and on, just get a ruler out and be done with it."

The monotony of listening to James drone on and Sherlock spouting out what she already knew, the Richard Brooks game, the _stupid_ key that never existed, trailing Jim along until she did what she knew he would. Sherlock, she had to admit, had a beautiful plan for both of them to die. But telling her everything made it so easy to destroy.

"There is no key **doofus**!"

Sherlock must be so disappointing, so unlike her. But his acting was perfection, just like James, and as Irene listened she wondered if any of the players knew who held all the cards, who saw the ultimate checkmate, who would end and destroy the game board?

James certainly had some good hands, all he ever needed was to manipulate people for his bang of a beginning play. His touchdown was interesting, "Fraud detective, it must be true I read it in the papers. I love newspapers."

He certainly did, he loved reading her obituary for his parents, fake and brittle. Molly wouldn't bother putting his own in the paper, nor would he put hers in.

The desperation in Sherlock's voice was phenomenal, before he died she would have to ask how he faked it so well, having emotions. She did a proper job but there was always something missing behind her voice, her eyes, so she made sure no one ever looked to closely.

"Oh just kill yourself already. _Pleeeeease._ "

"You're insane."

"You're just getting that now?"

If only Sherlock knew the true depths of insanity that resided in the Moriarty's, he might end his career as a detective. Molly hummed along to her favorite song of the week, _The Fire_. James loved his classic songs, never changing, while Molly's phone constantly played new music, searching for a melody to catch her ear. She loved to infuse their meanings into their games, just like James.

Many in their criminal underworld knew better than to disturb a Moriarty when headphones were in their ears.

James played his trump card and Molly scrolled through her phone, locating the album _Bishop Briggs_ to listen to, one headphone in.

_I've been a devil, I've been a saint. Somebody help me, I can't change._

Devils and saints frightened her once, demons and angels made her wonder if they were headed were hellfire.

_I keep running to the fire._

"Three bullets, three gunman. Three victims."

There was no assassin for her, no James had something more _elaborate_ designed for her. He would never dare to disrespect her with something as trivial as an assassin.

"Your only three friends will die."

"Unless I kill myself and complete your story."

His damn stories would be the death of him, she made sure of that.

As Sherlock climbed on the ledge and James walked away, she received his text.

_**LAZARUS.** _

The Bible held no use for either Sherlock or Molly, but it certainly had some interesting ideas.

Sherlock's laughter and James' petulant voice made her want to blare her music louder, drown out their _boring_ game. Sherlock had told her this part, what he hoped would be the end, that he could make James stop the game and concede defeat.

He would never do that, not even with his dying breath. Her cousin would rather destroy the board than let someone beat him.

"Sherlock, your big brother and all the King's horses couldn't make me do something I didn't want to do."

Mycroft was another player she had assessed and left alone, he was aware of who she was and was doing nothing. He was almost as hard to read as she and James were, but there was always _something_ , and in his case it was his baby brother. Her own baby brother had been strangled in his sleep, making James second-in-line for the Chair at the table. She had truly wept when she found him, he had been a sweet boy and she would have done anything for him, ensuring his hands never saw a drop of blood.

She, James, and Sherlock were alike, they were all willing to do anything for their cause. They were all prepared to _burn_.

Hellfire was her guiding light, even if she didn't believe in a god, Molly had shaken the devil's hand the moment she had scrubbed innocent blood from her fingertips. James had been standing right next to her as he described ordinary people, the _angels_.

Their world had no place for angels.

"You're me. _Thank you_."

James had always been searching for someone like him. Molly had always had a touch of light on her skin, a warmth in her eyes that isolated James even as he clung to her skin. It was a small kindness on her part, allowing him to believe Sherlock was just like him, just as godless and full of shadows.

"Thank you. _Bless you._ "

So he pushed his final piece of their game into place, "So long as I'm alive, your friends stand a chance of _staying alive_."

With a large grin he looked into Sherlock's eyes and shoved the gun to the roof of his mouth.

* * *

The gun in his lips never went off, it jammed.

Sherlock looked back at James, who pulled the gun out and pointed it at the sky, the roof, at Sherlock, back in his mouth, and never once did a bullet leave it's icy home. He threw the gun to the side and darted his eyes around, an open frown hiding a twisting tongue. In a sing-song voice he said, "Oh _Molly_ , where are you Molly?"

The door creaked open and her _Charlotte Olympia_ shoes clicking loudly on the roof.

"I thought you hated Dolce and Gabbanna dresses."

Her newly shorn dark hair grazed her shoulders, "Oh James, they're my favorite."

His face turned impassive and he asked, "What are you listening to?"

"Wouldn't you love to know?"

James tilted his head, "You never were an open book Molly."

"And you never closed yours."

The cousins stood straight, Molly looked more like James than she ever had, and she spoke,

"You know you've always been my distraction James."

"I could have sworn you were mine Margaret."

The Moriarty cousins stared at one another, matching eyes unwilling to blink, in the end James turned away to look at Sherlock who was so bewildered as he stood near the ledge of the roof. James bowed and sang, "I present my _lovely_ cousin, Margaret Moriarty, soon to be the _Head_ of our Family!"

Green eyes flew between the two of them before speaking slowly, "How did I not see it before?"

James stood, "You were always blind Sherlock, always. Your wings are so bright you couldn't see a snake wrapped around the throat of Eve."

Her eyes were still trained on James when she asked in a monotonous voice, "Are you Adam then James?"

"No, and you were never Eve. You're Lilith. You were never created _from_ me, you were created **for** me."

Her smile was empty, "The only thing I was created for was order. The order to your chaos."

He leaned his head in close to her, "You love my chaos, you _crave_ it. The strict life of our Family was never for us, we were meant to **destroy**."

Her Irish accent slipped into her voice as she pushed closer, "All I am is because of our destruction. Your heart is as black as mine, but mine is not so twisted by madness."

" **Madness**? That's all we are Margaret."

With a tilt of her own head, empty smile leaving her cheeks, she said, "We are not Adam and Lilith, we're nothing."

She turned from him and lifted her hands towards London, speaking slowly, "We are merely blips on this world, what we do here will not echo throughout the centuries, will not stain the pages of the history books. Our names are not even the ones the world will remember _Jimmy_."

The sound of her heels was the only noise on the roof, she offered her hand to Sherlock but he didn't take it. Margaret smiled at him and asked, "I wonder, what does an _ordinary_ person think of people like us? Someone on the side of the angels?"

"I wouldn't know, I don't even know who you really are Margaret." He responded.

"Did you truly think me that pathetic little mouse? Afraid of her own shadow?" She asked with a giggle. "Hiding in the light was the easiest thing I've ever done."

"Standing in the shadows is easy," James said, "I must confess, my dear, you are a superb actress."

"Oh, I'm not as talented as Sherlock here. He feigns emotions so well, look at him, he somehow is evoking rage and confusion, all while his brain is searching for something in this conversation that makes any sense."

She tapped his forehead and stepped away. James was at her side in an instant and cupping her cheek, "I'll admit Margaret, I did not anticipate you interfering in this particular game."

"You thought I would play my part? Help Sherlock convince the world he was dead?"

James tugged at his head, fake blood spilling onto his coat and hands. "He was going to jump, or I was going to push him. Whichever came first."

Sherlock pulled a pistol from his pocket and pointed it at their close embrace, "Both of you get to your knees."

Matching brown eyes swung to look at him, James hand fell from her face and he said, "Do you really think a gun frightens either of us? A bow and arrow would have been more interesting."

"Those are too slow."

"I've never had one pointed at me though."

"I could arrange it before you die."

"What _fun_ that would be."

" _Shut up_!" Cried Sherlock. "Molly what are you doing?"

With a roll of her eyes she walked towards him, her gait predatory and her hands relaxed against her silk sheath dress. Everything about Margaret was calculated, but unpredictable. She stood straight and tall, her gaze even with his. Molly, _his Molly_ , would always shyly look up from underneath her lashes, she rarely stood up straight, usually hunched over a body.

She was always so natural when she was cutting up a body, and he had admired her for it, her steady hands never slipped and her voice was low and calm as she recorded what she did to the body, how the person died. He was never ashamed to admit it was arousing to watch a woman so easy with death, now he didn't know how to feel as one of only two women he had ever wanted to know was face-to-face with Moriarty and matching him toe to toe.

Molly- _Margaret_ -smiled at him, and said, "Don't you want to know how this will end Sherlock? Once Jimmy and I complete this round of _the game_."

He didn't even notice that while she kept eye contact Margaret had slipped the gun from his fingers, without looking at it she emptied the bullets and tucked them in her pocket before flinging the gun across the roof.

"It will end with us devouring each other like animals."

With a sharp twist she looked at Jimmy and said, "I'm done speaking with you James. You tried one last game and it didn't work."

James' phone went off and her mouth twisted into an ugly frown, "Don't you dare touch that phone."

He didn't dare. With a smile he tossed his ringing phone to her and she caught it deftly and answered it with her gaze trained on her cousin, "Moriarty."

"Good afternoon Miss Moriarty."

"Good afternoon Sebastian."

"I assume James is in your presence."

"You would be correct."

"Then I must tell you he has assassins on Miss Adler's doorstep."

She smiled at Irene's small laugh in her ear, "I am aware."

"He has also ensured John Watson will arrive in 3 minutes. Mycroft Holmes also is en route to your location."

"Thank you, anything else?"

Sebastian's smooth voice replied, "If there is anything else he has not seen fit to tell me ma'am."

"Thank you Sebastian, for your loyal service."

"The Moriarty's shall always have it ma'am."

With a quick tap she hung up the phone and tucked it into her pocket next to the bullets. James stood with his hands in his pockets, "Where do we go from here Margaret? It seems you're writing the _story_."

"No. I'm ending our game."

The two walked towards each other with malice in their eyes, the Moriarty's were ruthless even with their own blood. Her own father had killed Moriarty's mother in a fit of rage, strangled her till the light left her eyes.

Moriarty's only killed each other with their bare hands, it was an unspoken precedent that went back centuries in Ireland, blood dripped down their family tree and both were determined to add to the pulsing pool at the base.

But he stopped and held out his hands, "Come now cousin, I have something more civilized than ripping each other's throats out with our hands."

"You would have us ignore traditions that go back centuries."

"I would have us begin new traditions."

James walked over to Sherlock, a hospitable smile on his face, before he slammed his head into Sherlock's. Sherlock dropped like a stone and James turned around, "I have the perfect place for us Margaret."

* * *

They were home.

Or as close to home as they could ever get.

The Moriarty family home was back in Ireland, a decaying castle above a labyrinth of tunnels packed with the secrets of their family, their treasures. The ancient boarding house they owned in London was beautiful, if rarely used. Margaret hadn't been back in the rooms of this place ever since her father passed, his body withering from the inside, and she passed by the room he died in without a glance.

In the main parlor a small chess table was set with pieces of black and white. He held a chair out for her and she sat in front of the black pieces, as she always did. James sat across from her and made the first move, as he always did.

"Do you remember sitting here with Grandfather, watching him play?" Asked James.

"Of course, he would hit our arms if we even _breathed_ on these pieces."

"It's marble."

"I was 5 when he first hit me."

"I was 4."

"Are we truly going to argue over who Grandfather hit more?" She said.

A flicker of a smile crossed his face, "No, we're here for a bigger game."

He reached for and stroked his white king, "These are made of marble, carved back in the 1800's, how much do you think this is worth?"

"Possibly as much as my dress."

They moved pieces in silence, slowly, as they each thought five moves ahead with endless possibilities. James had a twitch that she watched for, his finger would graze against his lips when he thought he had her. Once he did it she made a powerful move with her king and waited. Margaret pursed her lips, coated in a dark rose Dior lipstick, and she placed both hands on the armrests of her chair. James was looking at the marble pieces with a manic look on his face, eyes twitching dangerously.

He slammed his hands on the table and pieces rolled around, James tried to stand from his chair but could not. His voice was sputtering with pure rage, " **What have you done**."

She stood carefully and straightened the skirt of her dress, then slowly picked the pieces back up and put them back in their place on the board.

"I told you, I'm taking the seat at the Table. Gianna is even arranging a celebratory _hunt_ , if you can believe such an ancient tradition still exists in Italy. Irish traditions are more fun, wouldn't you think?"

His lips were numb and for once he had no story to tell, no lies to spill, just _silence_.

"I think we could have done magnificent things together Jim, if we weren't so alike. The Moriarty's could have risen high under our hands, we could have molded it into something our ancestors could only have dreamt of. Instead, you had to play your **games** with ordinary people, try to burn their wings."

Her hands slammed down on his and forced her face into his, "If you had been able to keep your _fucking shit_ together, we wouldn't be at this point!"

Real tears hadn't left her eyes since she was a child, but they gathered as his rage started to poison her.

"If you could have just kept yourself out of the public, stayed within the Family, I don't know. And you know we're always ahead, we're ten steps ahead of every single one of our enemies and our allies."

She stood up straight and wiped at her eyes, smudging her eyeliner. Margaret went to the large oval mirror mounted on the wall and adjusted the black liner before turning back. His feet were tapping but slowing down and she laughed,

"Remember how you thought my years at college, getting a medical degree, would be useless for the Family? Turns out, knowing where each nerve is, what chemicals can be absorbed through skin, through pores, has been advantageous. You hadn't noticed it because it's tasteless, and I just _waited_ for your tick."

Reaching for her purse she pulled out her phone and sent a text for a Cleaner. She called into the next room, "John? Could I trouble you?"

Her friend walked into the room, silent and eyes trained on her cousin.

"I'm sure you remember John Wick, after all you're the one who convinced him to take a Marker with Santino D'Antonio, who you knew damn well would ask him to kill his sister."

John stood next to James' chair and stared down at him with no emotion while she continued, "You've always known the motives of the others at the Table, so have I. I took his Marker and you know how fond of him I am."

She trailed a hand down John's arm, knowing how angry he would be to see her touch another man. Why not make him suffer more, he had made so many others suffer for so long, had tortured so many, she wanted to make him _suffer_.

"I don't know why I'm telling you any of this, it seems useless when you will be dead soon."

Her fingers went to his cheek, the only part of him that could move enough were his eyes, his fingers trembled and she said, "I want you to know something, the poison won't kill you, I won't let it. I know you said you thought it cowardly, it doesn't have the dramatics you love in your stories, but it is effective. I know you think poison is considered a woman's weapon, and I know it **infuriates** you that it has brought you down.

"You thought I would never dare do anything in the Moriarty home, you thought correctly that I would never disrespect our family's legacy, but I fucking hated Grandfather. He stared too long at me, touched me too much. But you knew that."

Irene walked into the room, her Louboutin heels higher than her embroidered heels. In her hands was a case and inside was a carving knife, Margaret held it up to the light and marveled at it.

"I know you remember this, I killed Carl Powers with it before you could. You were so _angry_."

She giggled, an honest to god giggle, and continued, "I stole one thing from you and you tried to steal my life so many times. And here we are, back at the beginning."

His eyes were darting to John and Irene, "Oh they're not here to join in, though I know they would love to. John is here to ensure that once I kill you, you _stay_ dead."

John pulled out a pistol and held it loosely, a promise.

"We always talked about _burning_ , burning hearts, lives, burning in hellfire. But I'm going to slide this knife between your ribs and carve until I find your black shriveled heart."

The knife pressed into his pale neck, like the jaws of a lion around its' preys neck, and she pushed lightly. A trickle of blood slid down the shining blade, after all she had sharpened it just for the occasion. Margaret dragged her finger through the blood and held it up to her face, "Remember how you used to say you would breath the perfume in my blood? Like some celestial being?"

She flung his blood onto his cheek, "I'm not celestial, I am not part of the divine, I am a wretch upon this earth."

A phone rang but the Moriarty's couldn't hear it, all they saw in those moments were each other, "I have a heart for horror and a talent for _blood_. I wonder just when you forgot that."

Sebastian's shoes made no sound as he went by the room to answer the doorbell, "I wish I could remember which of us began this war, which of us screamed until the other howled back. Neither of us were ever meant to kneel, not to God, the devil, or each other.

Her voice faltered for a moment, "We were never satisfied. I don't know if you wished for this, but I longed for us to truly love each other, not this monstrous love that turned us into terrors. We could have been _enough_ for each other."

With a sharp press to his neck, increasing the flow, she continued, "But this love is ugly, it's cruel. It twisted us, maimed us, burned us until we were nothing without the other. But we would swallow our blood before we swallowed this yearning, this devotion."

Margaret smiled one last time at James and pressed her lips to his, tasting blood.

"Is the speech eloquent enough for you? I know you would have preferred something simple, more public, but I'm writing the story now. You'll be remembered, but only as a footnote on my own story."

Her lips rested near his ear as she drew the knife down and held it in front of his heart, "I will devour this world before I let you make me a bloodstain on history."

She drew back and looked into those familiar eyes that seemed to be laughing, longing. They had never been so close, this was more intimate than being tangled in the bedsheets, or torturing someone together, watching the darkness leave his eyes would make her weak.

Without hesitation or a moment for either of them to tense she plunged the knife through his ribs and found his heart.

Her knee's buckled when his head fell forward. Irene pulled her back and they looked at his body, knife clutched in her hands, the blood staining her hand.

Irene finally spoke, "I never thought he would be so silent when the breath left his body."

Margaret said, "I've imagined his death hundreds of ways, I didn't think he would be so _quiet_."

John pulled her back and pressed his gun against James' temple, he squeezed the trigger and it silently shot bullets through his head, spattering blood and brains all over her grandfather's favorite rug.

"He would have crucified me. Left me to hang above our enemies as a warning while he wore a crown soaked in my blood."

"And here you stand," said Irene, "a bloody knife instead of a crown."

Sebastian escorted Cleaners into the room and they began their quick work, wrapping the body and rug together before scrubbing the floors. John handed off the gun to be dunked in bleach and thrown into the plastic with the body.

Margaret didn't hand off the knife, she placed it in the middle of the chessboard and wiped her hands on a cloth offered by a Cleaner.

"What would you think of me if I took up a crown?"

John spoke quietly, "No one wearing a crown comes in the name of peace."

"I've always wanted peace, silly isn't it? A little girl's dream while her life was built on the bodies of her families enemies."

Irene asked, "What would you do now?"

She gave no answer, simply stared into the empty fireplace, wondering when freedom had escaped her grasp. Perhaps it was the first day Sherlock walked into her morgue and captivated her with his own grandeur ideas of humanity.

More than likely it was the first time James fucked her, up against the flames of the fireplace in front of her. Her bones were set aflame with his every touch, the frenzy of their love the very fury that sprung in her heart.

It destroyed her in the end.

* * *

Italy had so many delightful distractions, she had adored attending Gianna on her ascension to the table, applauding at the crucifixion of Santino.

John and Irene were always at her side until the day she asked John, "Are you leaving me?"

"I left this life once, I would do it again."

"I will not stop you, but I would ask that perhaps you visit or call once in a while?"

She kissed his cheek and asked, "Tell me when your home is rebuilt, I would like to visit and pay my respects to Helen."

He left her service and ever faithful Sebastian took up his post, ensuring no one ever got close enough to even breathe in Miss Moriarty's direction. Irene rather enjoyed being the assumed play-thing of Margarets, though anyone with a shred of sense could detect the danger in her eyes and how poised she was with a gun in her hand.

* * *

There came a day when Margaret walked down the street wearing a blue Fuzzi Tulle turtleneck dress with her arm looped through Irene's who wore a simple purple Armani dress. Sebastian had taken a rare day off and Miss Moriarty had wanted a simple day without the extra guards.

A smooth English accent called out to the two, "Pardon me Miss Moriarty, would you join me for some tea?"

Mycroft Holmes loved to play games, but Margaret had had more than enough of them, but the British Government certainly had more to tell her than simply playing a game.

The two women sat and Mycroft said, "I trust you are both in good health?"

"As well as can be expected."

"Yes I would imagine fleeing the country after cutting your cousin's heart out might cause a _slight_ imbalance."

Their Cleaners were good but when dealing with a man who could bring down government's with a simple plan, Margaret preferred to get to the point.

"As charming as this conversation is Mr. Holmes, why are you here."

A small smile crossed his face, "Why Miss Moriarty, I want something."

"And you think I will give you what you want."

"You hate loose ends. You tied up everything connected to your cousin quickly and neatly enough that no one noticed, save for those of us looking. But _Molly Hooper_ left some things unsaid."

" _Molly Hooper_ never existed."

"We both know that isn't the truth."

"Anything I left behind in London wasn't worth taking."

"Not even Sherlock?"

She paused and Irene's eyes flickered to her face, both women had never brought up the detective but Irene had checked on him to ensure he wasn't tracking them. What she had found was a man obsessed with the Moriarty network James had left behind, Sherlock had also made headway into their criminal underworld and was close to the High Table. Irene made sure to leave false trails for him to obsess over, distracting him from the High Table.

"I will admit your brother is fascinating to play with, James made that obvious and I consider it my greatest talent that he never discovered me. But he was not worth staying for."

"We both know that isn't the truth Miss Moriarty. I would like to offer you something."

Margaret rolled her eyes behind her sunglasses, "What could you have that I would want?"

"A Mr. Wick has recently come onto Scotland Yard's radar, Detective Inspector Lestrade is interrogating the silent suspect as we speak. Return to London to end Sherlock's obsession and Mr. Wick will be released without incident."

Her face didn't twitch, but it was curious how they could have grabbed John let alone know he was a close operative to her. She pulled out her phone and tapped away while speaking, "I will come to London for a single meeting, no more."

"That is all I ask."

* * *

Irene chose to attend her and scheduled appointments with old clients, the Continental welcomed their return and Margaret perused their new gun models while Irene was away. Her phone went off with a text alert,

_Baker Street. 10. -MH_

He certainly didn't mince words, Mycroft would make an excellent addition to the High Table should he ever turn from his life of the light. But, Margaret surmised, the Holmes brothers had been touched by the darkness enough to want to stay far away from it.

* * *

She knocked twice on the door and it was opened by Mycroft.

"Hello Miss Moriarty, do come in."

He took her blue wool coat and hung it up before escorting her up the stairs. There were loud bangs coming from behind 221B's door and Mycroft walked in unannounced only to be nearly hit by a glass vase. He looked at the shards on the ground, "Were you attempting to hit me with that?"

"Obviously not. If I had been it would have met it's mark."

Margaret looked around the corner and pulled off her sunglasses to tuck them in her white purse.

"I have a visitor for you Sherlock."

"If you have another useless case for me I'm busy, you know I only have one case I'm working on."

"Ah yes, the Moriarty case. I believe this visitor can help you end the investigation."

Sherlock looked up from his laptop to see Margaret standing next to Mycroft, white pants and black sleeveless shirt standing out starkly against the browns and blues of the apartment. Her gaze on him was cool and emotionless and Mycroft smirked next to her.

He did nothing for a moment, just looked her over and taking note of everything down to her perfect posture and black manicured nails. His brother was forgotten as he stood in his own crumpled suit and reached a hand out reverently, " _Molly_."

"Sherlock. You don't look well."

"That tends to happen when one of my friends and my rival disappear together, clearly about to kill one another."

She smiled, "Well you've found me."

His eyes slid back to Mycroft, "How did you compel her to come here."

Mycroft shrugged, "I asked."

"No you didn't."

Margaret interrupted, "As fascinating as your spiteful squabbling is, I don't intend to be here for very long."

Without invitation she sat in Sherlock's chair and rested her purse in her lap, she crossed her legs so one black heel was raised by her knee.

"If you have questions now is the time to ask them."

Sherlock sat in John's chair across from her and Mycroft waited by the door, curious to watch the conversation.

"Molly-"

"Let's start there. My name isn't Molly, it's Margaret Moriarty."

His hands clenched, "I'm aware, how long have you been Molly?"

"Molly has always been my cover, she's existed since I was a teenager."

Her posture shifted, her shoulders hunched in on themselves and her eyes looked slightly above his, her mouth looked smaller and her voice wavered with an English accent when she said, "I've been on holiday for a while, I apologize."

As easily as she slid Molly on Margaret slipped back, her eyes meeting his without hesitation and Irish accent harsh.

"I'm not made of porcelain, Molly was. And she was useful while I denied my true self."

"Your true self being the heir to the Moriarty family?"

"James was never the heir, I allowed him to have my seat and I let him run free with his silly little fairy tales. But as you're well aware, I couldn't allow it any more, he was getting sloppy and slowly destroying our Family. Inelegantly as well, had he burned us all with a little more _finesse_ I might have been more appreciative and willing to burn with him."

"Your tête-à-tête was very descriptive, have all Moriarty's been obsessed with the angels and burning?"

Her lips twitched, "It was a hobby of James'."

His eyebrow raised, "Was. Do you mean to say James is dead, he simply vanished off the map."

"So did I, yet here I sit."

"Yet here you sit."

They sat in silence and he broke it, "What is the High Table."

"Why would I tell you that."

"Because you're _burning_ to tell me, Jim could never keep his secrets close to his chest."

"You make a mistake by assuming I am like my cousin. I am what a Moriarty is meant to be, I am what a Head is _designed_ to be. The High Table is off-limits and I won't tell you."

"Then tell me, are you the head of the Moriarty network?"

"No. I disbanded it and I'd rather like to thank you for disposing of the more unruly members. Sebastian was grateful he didn't have to return to this city."

"Is he your assassin?"

She laughed, "No, he's my most loyal companion. Irene is also quite loyal but _she_ is my assassin."

"Irene. Irene Adler?"

"That is her current name yes."

His fingers entwined, "How long have you known her?"

"Years."

"So that body, that was you."

A statement, not a question.

"How much do you think you know about me?" She asked.

"You mean you don't already know, you're not in my head already."

"I have no desire to get lost in your ridiculous mind palace, I have more pressing matters."

"Like John Wick?"

Her eyes narrowed and a twisted smile graced her face, "He is one of the pressing matters, indeed."

"He's rather feral, it seems you have a _type_."

"Mr. Wick has been loyal to me and he was on his way home when your brother somehow got ahold of him."

Mycroft spoke up, "He was in the middle of a pile of dead bodies, Italian bodies."

"That rather sounds like former associates of a now deceased enemy. He was the target, not the assassin."

"It still presented a problem."

"I'm sure that had your men not followed him John would have made his way home undisturbed."

Margaret stood up and walked over to Sherlock's bookshelf, "Would you let me borrow some books?"

"Please help yourself."

Her fingers trailed over the spines and he asked, "Jim's spider web is gone, but your Family is still strong is it not?"

"The Moriarty's have always been strong. One destructive branch is not enough to destroy centuries of work."

He was quick to ask, "What did you do with Jim?"

Her mouth slid into a proper smile, "I chained him to his throne and burned his little kingdom down."

"I've had enough of your analogies, all your talk of burning and devils is pointless to me. Jim never gave me a straight answer, but I know you can Molly."

A small huff of a laugh escaped her mouth, "You're still a fool. Mycroft wanted me to end your obsession, but you will never accept what is right in front of your face. My blood sings for death and my soul cries out for horror, I know it lures you in, it's _intoxicating_."

She approached him and stood over him, "When I'm bleeding out over my throne, all my allies gone, all I will have left are my words and you **will** hear them Sherlock Holmes. I am a terrifying monstrosity in human flesh, my cousin even more so with an unstable mind and stars in his eyes. We were monsters and our mouths were our weapons, compelling others to destroy their fellow man.

"I loved him as if he was my very soul, but my monster was stronger than his and I did not dance among the angels like he did, trying to rip out their hollow throats. I've danced with the devil for lifetimes, he made me swallow fire so that I could burn down cities, but I promised I would never hurt innocent people. The devil only wants those like him, the angels and their light had no appeal but James thought he could destroy anyone he felt like.

"If you truly want to know what turned me against him, it was his ridiculous games with you, bombs attached to people who didn't deserve it."

Her black nail trailed down his face, "I was renewed with purpose, James would say I was a phoenix reborn from the ashes but I wasn't."

She dug the nail into his cheek, dragging a drop of blood out, "My soul is a storm that's been brewing since I was born, James was the lightning to my thunder but don't think for one moment that you need to see lightning in order to hear thunder.

"You wish to know what happened to Jim? I took a knife and carved his heart out, put a bullet in his head for good measure because in the end the world is full of James Moriarty's but only one Margaret Moriarty."

She pushed his face away, "I don't want you to try to enter my world anymore, you have no place in our ordered chaos. There are so many people like me who would love to sink their teeth into your skin, and do you know what saves you?"

"What."

"My mercy."

* * *

Irene was with a client and Sebastian was reminiscing with the concierge, it was perfect as she needed to be alone, to scrub every part of Molly off that she could. Molly with her timid loving heart had tried to crack to the surface, to brush her fingers against Sherlock's skin and instead Margaret dug her nails in to keep her at bay.

Margaret sat in the deep bath and trailed fingers through the red bubbles, Mycroft had promised John would be released within hours and there was still no word. If she had wasted her time with Sherlock there was a small terrorist cell in France that would feel her wrath.

She ran her hands through her hair and dipped below the water, blowing air as she went. The phone rang incessantly and she climbed out to answer it, wrapping a robe around her body as she went.

"Miss Margaret, I apologize for disturbing you so late but security has apprehended a man who is adamant about speaking to you."

"Has he given a name?"

"He says his name is Sherlock Holmes."

With an exasperated sigh she said, "Escort him up."

After slamming the phone down she wrapped her hair in a bun and pulled on a Dolce and Gabanna print silk caftan, the blue designs standing out starkly in the room. A knock came upon her door and she opened it to two of her men with their hands tightly upon Sherlock's shoulders, his eyes were manic and his appearance was in disarray. They forced him inside and held him away from Margaret, who narrowed her eyes at the detective.

"I believe all that was left to be said was discussed earlier."

His voice was as ragged as a knife, "You know damn well _Margaret_ that there is so much more to say."

Her eyebrow raised and the man on his left asked, "Miss Moriarty, would you like us to stay?"

"That won't be necessary Robert, please wait outside until he can be escorted out."

The two left quickly and snapped the door shut, she went over to a drink cart and poured herself a glass of Scotch. She raised the bottle towards him and he shook his head, "I'm clean."

"I somehow doubt that, you don't have the best _control._ "

He clenched his hand and he said, "And you do?"

"Tell me, in all the years we spent together did you ever see my hand tremble when I would slice into a corpse? Did I ever flinch at the sight of blood?"

She took a quick sip of her drink and said, "Could you ever tell I had a gun on my body as well as three knives at all times?"

"No."

"Because my control was bred into me long before you took your first hit of drugs, now tell me quickly what you want."

Sherlock's colorless eyes darted all over her body, looking for clues or hints or _anything_ he could use, but there was nothing he didn't already know.

"I want to know why."

"Why what."

He struggled with words for a moment, "Why **everything** : Jim, Molly, the game, Irene, this High Table-"

She held a hand up to stop him, "Jim and Molly are dead, there's no reason to know anything about them, and as far as the government is concerned Irene Adler is dead in the Middle East. Quite frankly there is no longer a game, it ended with James' death."

Sherlock sat down in a white chair, unable to stand, "At least...was anything you said when you were...Molly, was any of it true?"

Her head tipped to the side and a strand of hair slipped by her neck, still damp.

"Certainly my degree was real, but do you refer to friendships? Or the affection you always denied Molly?"

He closed his eyes in a flinch, and she laughed, "Does it really bother you? That just by pretending to be some lovestruck fool, you couldn't see a fucking psychopath standing right next to you?"

"You're not a psychopath."

"Details."

Neither of them said a word for a moment, and Margaret grew bored.

"I'm going to dry my hair, if you're still here when I come back out you best have something important to say."

Her bare feet made no sound as she went inside and turned on her hairdryer, Sherlock used the loud sound to get up and scan the room for anything of us. Mostly it was a nondescript hotel suite, nothing of personal value was visible. He darted into the bedroom and found it pristine, all the clothes hanging in bags in the closet and not a weapon to be found.

He let out a growl of impatience and riffled through drawers until he found a box, inside of which there was a carving knife that gleamed in the light.

"Do put that down Sherlock."

He had been so focused on the knife he hadn't heard her return, hair dry and hanging by her shoulders. Sherlock felt a pang at the realization that her hair was so short it would no longer be in that high ponytail she always favored, _Molly favored_.

Sherlock desperately missed Molly.

"Is this it?"

Her eyebrow raised in question, "Is it the knife you used to kill Jim with?"

"It is. I keep it with me as a reminder."

"A reminder of what?" He asked.

She crossed the room and took it from him, returning it to the box and he inhaled the rose soap scent from her hair, "A reminder not to let another Jim Moriarty get out of control."

Her elbow flew into his chin and he slammed against the wall, her arm pressed into his throat and forced him to slide down so they were face-to-face. His hands went to her arm and squeezed but she was firm in her stance. Margaret grabbed the knife again and pressed it against his cheek, "Do you want to feel how he died?"

"Yes."

"I played his game and endured his taunts, I poisoned him so he couldn't move and I cut his throat like the animal he was. I should have skinned him but I couldn't bear to, John put a bullet through his head just to make sure because when you planned your grand death so was Jim. I know all his tricks and allies and I made **sure** he stayed dead."

Margaret's voice dropped lower, "I told you to stay away, to not investigate the High Table because you are trying to play with things you do **not** understand. Your brother understands and he knows well enough not to interfere, why don't you?"

His voice choked out, "I need to know if Molly ever existed."

Her arm dropped and he slid down the wall to the floor, "What is your obsession with me? Just accept that I tricked you and move on, I don't have time to dwell in the past and neither do you."

"If any part of it was real, please tell me, any part of your affection."

She froze and nearly laughed, but her heart fluttered. Only Jim ever fought to get close to her, to endure the pain she would rain down until he could kiss her lips and firmly grasp her heart. But he burned her heart until there was nothing left, he made her burn her soul just so he could keep warm and she was glad to do it.

The man in front of her was weak, he had emotions that he couldn't repress and an addiction he could never control, Sherlock was desperate for that one part of her that had slipped out and loved him.

And she couldn't understand why.

"I will admit, you fascinate me, why would you try so hard to be unfeeling and unloveable when you're so intelligent, so easy to love? I determined it must have been your emotional immaturity, but here you are, begging at my feet for any sign of the love I may have bore you."

Margaret dropped the knife to cross her arms, "I did, for a moment, let myself be Molly. I truly wanted to remain her, to stay in that morgue and cut up bodies to hide what my Family had done. To stay in that small apartment and hope that one day you would come over not just to hide."

Her lips drew back in a bitter smile, "But that was foolish, I have a duty to my Family and I will fulfill it as every Head has before."

"You would rather run a crime syndicate than be simple Molly Hooper?"

"It's not a matter of what I want, I can't love like Molly can and neither can you."

His voice was returning to normal, "You don't know that."

"I think I do. And even if you could, you would always know what a monster I am, what lies in my bones."

A pang ran through her chest and she raised a hand as if to soothe it away, her voice didn't wave, "I'm not some silly fool, you won't manipulate me into believing the love we could have will save me. I know what I am and you do to."

"You're not a monster Molly."

She laughed, "Oh yes I am, my monstrosity is mine to bear, you would fear it if you could but we both know better."

She leaned in close to his face and whispered, "You _crave_ it."

* * *

It all went downhill from there, her silk shift was ripped off her head and their lips were crushed together. Her nails dug into his arms as she dragged his suit off, he pushed her down onto the bed and pressed the length of his body against her.

She hadn't meant for this to happen, but she was willing to admit that Molly chipped out. Her heart was fragile and desperately wanted to be loved, not to be possessed like Jim always did.

Sherlock's trousers were gone and his hands slid up and down her legs, sending tingles along her skin. His mouth met her throat and she leaned back to get him better access. She and Jim had always assumed he was a virgin, but _oh_ it was clear he wasn't.

The swell of her breasts were crushed against him and she couldn't help but think of Jim, of how much larger Sherlock was in sheer body mass. Jim was identical in height and weight to herself and while their shagging was hot their bed was cold. Sherlock was warming her skin and the sheets, making her wonder why she hadn't given in sooner.

Her hand went up and down his back while the other curled in his hair, tugging at the strands and drawing low moans from his mouth. His lips found hers again and he rolled his hips against hers, their skin growing warmer.

Being with Jim was always harsh, _unforgivable_ , disgusting to many that didn't understand how the Moriarty's worked. A part of her had always sneered at the thought, she and Jim were a part of one another there was nothing soft or loving about it.

This though, Sherlock's teeth scraping against her clavicle, wasn't soft either. It wasn't familiar either, Jim had known every curve of her body and she delighted in how Sherlock tried to find a part of her that would drag out a desperate moan.

"Stop thinking."

Her voice was breathless as she replied, "Stop what?"

"Thinking about him."

Then he slid down and latched onto her breasts, running his tongue over her sensitive nipples and thoughts of Jim flew from her mind. He was dead and would never touch her again, instead she had someone better that wouldn't try to burn her heart out, wouldn't **dare** to outsmart her.

Sherlock murmured from between her breasts as his hand trained down to her growing wetness, "Don't drown within your own storm Molly."

"Will you be the sun that destroys my rain?"

His face came back to hover over hers as he replied, "No, I'll be the ship, desperately trying to hang on."

Lips crashed against one another and tongues mixed as his hand rubbed against her labia, her hips moving to meet his fingers. She spread her legs wider, hoping for more touches.

He complied.

His fingers fluttered in and out, not delving too deeply, teasing her as he dragged a whine out of her. Margaret wanted to dig her nails into his back, like she would with Jim, but she truly didn't want to hurt him. She didn't want his blood on her hands, no matter how it got there.

As his fingers continued to move her own hand slipped down his torso, dragging against the hair there until she found his hardening cock. It certainly didn't take much to get him this way and she thought she could enjoy that in the future, to tease him.

Jim would have never abided teasing.

Her hand became crushed between their bodies when he moved to thrust his cock into her, a loud moan leaving her throat at the feeling and sounds of wet skin slapping.

There was nothing violent or brutal with this, no _this_ was pleasure and Sherlock would never leave bruises unless she asked. Before, with Jim, she thought it was love but it was a compulsion, a mania that Jim rattled inside her.

She couldn't call what they had had love, not even a passion, it was a delusion the two had together. Even if they had one day married, this mania would have killed them both. It wouldn't have been as soon as she had actually done it, but it would have happened. It was easy to blame Jim for it all, he was the one who reached out for her first.

But she hadn't resisted, she had been the one to press her lips against his and start the unhealthy infatuation. They both would have died on a throne of blood, but now she wouldn't mind staying in this bed forever, Sherlock between her thighs and their voices high in the room.

* * *

Jim was left in the past, where he belonged.

Irene didn't like what Margaret did, but she couldn't fault her because she understood. Her own Kate had returned to her and Margaret had kissed them both, making them promise to send her an invitation.

Sebastian had no words on the subject, only one day when he was driving her did he say, "You were always meant to be happy."

"Is that what I am? Happy?"

"As happy as any Moriarty could hope to be I suppose."

She visited John in his newly rebuilt home and asked, "Even with Helen gone, was it worth it?"

"Getting out?"

"Yes."

"Of course it was."

Her fingers picked at her blouse until he said, "But I can never really be out. There is no way to be out. You know this."

"I do."

"And we both know you don't want to leave."

* * *

John Watson, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson were startled when they saw her. All she had done when she had left as Molly was a note about an ill relative, seeing her return with her haircut and a cool composure made them uneasy.

Sherlock stood behind her and assured them everything was fine.

He always stood behind her, never quite next to her as was due her status and she found that she liked it. He would whisper in her ear when he noticed something amiss, even though he knew she had considered it already.

Having him defer to her was...interesting. The respect was still there as he had always regarded her with appreciation as Molly, but Margaret was something different. Margaret was a storm in human flesh while Sherlock was a glass palace, both cold and a rage deep within their souls.

But put them together, and _oh_ flowers grew from the darkest part of their souls.

* * *

When it was only them, hands buried in their hair and sweat cooling on their bodies, he would whisper and call her Molly.

She didn't mind being Molly for a moment, Molly was a pink daisy in an empty field, Margaret was the purple thistle that grew underfoot and pierced flesh.

For a moment, she imagined there was no blood dripping from her hands, no ghosts haunting her mind, no cruelty in her bones. Her soul was a calm lake, her heart wasn't thrashing to be out of her ribcage. Sherlock would run his hands down her stomach and she wouldn't flinch from his touch, unsure if he would leave bruises.

He never would, he never did.

Sherlock would touch her with reverence, like she was a goddess. He knew Margaret wasn't Molly, Molly loved wine and flowers. No Margaret was a goddess, and real gods required blood.

* * *

Jim should have understood something about women, he underestimated them even when they were stepping on his throat. Sherlock understood that if he tried to throw her to the wolves, she would come back leading the pack with a war cry on her lips.

* * *

She started to teach him how to be a monster.


End file.
